


Athena

by Fyifae



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22156699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyifae/pseuds/Fyifae
Summary: The gym door opens a peek. A pair of long, smooth legs in tights draws everyone's eyes like gravity, especially when it's apparent they belong to the school's latest celebrity."The girl's basketball team practices in the west gym," their coach says, clearly annoyed her team has stopped dribbling to ogle Yosen's newly crowned #1 beauty.Tucking a lock of silky black hair behind her ear, class 2-C's Himuro Tatsuya smiles kindly. Several hearts stutter inside their respective ribcages."I'm not allowed in the girl's team yet." She brandishes a filled form to the coach. "I'm here to apply as manager."In a universe where Himuro Tatsuya is a girl, she joins the Yosen Boys Basketball Club as their manager in time for the Winter Cup.
Relationships: Himuro Tatsuya/Kagami Taiga, Himuro Tatsuya/Murasakibara Atsushi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 81





	1. Descent

**Author's Note:**

> This is the single most self-indulgent thing I have ever really written. But c'mon, it's fem!Himuro. Imagine the pretty, the petty, the /audacity/. There's literally like 2 fics about it with one of them being deleted and I am sad.
> 
> If there's anyone left in this dead fandom, enjoy!
> 
> Edit: I edited the first chapter ending + fixed the formatting! Again! Now English is in brackets. I find it flows better like that.
> 
> Also I changed the title because the last one just wasn't working for me. "Athena" because she's the weilder of the Shield of Aegis. I'm pre~tty sure this is why Yosen's coach is female, but for this fic's purposes, Athena refers to fem!Himuro.

The gym door opens a peek. A pair of long, smooth legs in tights draws everyone's eyes like gravity, especially when it's apparent they belong to the school's latest celebrity.

"The girl's basketball team practices in the west gym," their coach says, clearly annoyed her team has stopped dribbling to ogle Yosen's newly crowned #1 beauty.

Tucking a lock of silky black hair behind her ear, class 2-C's Himuro Tatsuya smiles kindly. Several hearts stutter inside their respective ribcages.

"I'm not allowed in the girl's team yet." She brandishes a filled form to the coach. "I'm here to apply as manager."

Coach takes the paper from her hand, skimming the contents, eyes widening at certain points. "You were a starter in all your basketball teams throughout elementary and middle school?"

"And freshman high last year, [yeah]," there it is, a language slip only a returnee would say. "I've been playing basket for a long time. I'll be good at data-collecting and analyzing."

"And your teams have won nationals two years in a row?"

"Only that time in middle school," she says. "I'm also a decent cook."

Coach looks conflicted, like she is weighing the pro of having a competent assistant and the con of having said assistant be a total distraction to her entire team. The captain hasn't stopped simpering since Himuro walked in.

In the end, she sighs and blows her whistle. The team sans Murasakibara stands straighter in attention.

"Kentaro, switch out!" She barks at their shooting guard, who obeys distractedly. "Himuro, sub in," is what she orders next, surprising everyone. "We continue the game. Two minutes."

"Ah, I didn't really bring something to change into," the lone schoolgirl says, but doesn't look bothered as she ties her hair, takes off her cardigan and rolls up her skirt. Every patch of newly revealed skin has the boys in a trance.

Coach instructs, "Himuro, white team." This is easy enough to remember, her white blouse fitting seamlessly into Fukui and Okamura's ranks. "You're against black." Shw jabs a finger towards Liu and Murasakibara, both donning dark overshirts. The resident miracle child, as always, counts as (at least) two people in every regular vs. practice match.

Another whistle blow starts the game.

Before the game was paused, Fukui had the ball. He dribbles it calmly, eyes focused unlike a few seconds ago, already plotting for a way to finally score one basket against Murasakibara. The freshman hasn't moved an inch since the match started. Between the two seniors, only Okamura has the height advantage needed to mark Liu, so that's what he has been doing the whole game. Kentaro is taller than Fukui, though not by much, but is a decent enough shooter that he has been the one leading their team's assault—an assault that would have decimated any other team without a miracle guarding its ring. As it goes, no one on the Yosen's boys basketball team has managed to score a point against Murasakibara all year.

Naturally, Fukui passes to their wild card.

Himuro receives the ball with the grace of a ballerina, then transitions to a drive so smoothly it takes a few moments to realize she has moved at all. In an instant, she is by the three-point line. Murasakibara towers in front of her, ingrained reflexes moving one arm up high, autopilot. To make up for her actually-gigantic-for-a-girl-but-still-small-for-Murasakibara height, Himuro jumps. She shoots.

It's hard to judge whether time passes at all. Her flawless form, the way her arms arch, the hypnotizing arc of the ball going  _ through _ Murasakibara's hand and  _ into _ the ring.

The automated scoring board lights up a 03 for the white team. All hell would have broken loose if only they haven't been blindsided by the sheer beauty of her play.

She is the first one to recover, poking the nearby captain's bicep. "C'mon, we're on [defense]."

Murasakibara is the second one to collect his absent mind from the air, swapping the surprise for anger. Purple eyes narrow, almost into slits. "Don't bother. I won't let you score again."

"Defense," she enunciates, half to the problem child and half to Fukui. She moves towards Liu, leaving center duties rightfully to the Okamura's hulking figure.

Liu dribbles the ball to the white team's side of the court. Himuro doesn't let him get too far. At an impasse, Fukui sneakily steals the ball and passes it to her. She drives through while he switches to mark the Chinese exchange student. Liu tries to stop her, but her drive is  _ special _ , even in flat mary janes.

Once again, they are back to Himuro at the three-point line. Unlike the first time, Murasakibara looks absolutely murderous in front of her. She shoots. Predictably, the ball is smacked to the floor.

A whistle blow. The two minutes are over.

"Himuro! You pass," shouts Coach. "Come to practice first thing tomorrow morning. The rest of you, keep on it!"

The entire team resumes their training without a word. Himuro says, "Yes, Ma'am, thank you", but doesn't bow. Returnees.

She walks to the side to fetch her discarded clothing. Ignoring disgruntled teammates and exasperated coach, Murasakibara follows her.

"That was a regular shot," he accuses.

Picking up her cardigan, Himuro hums. "[Mirage shot] is supposed to be unbeatable. I can't have you break it just yet."

Murasakibara follows her to the door. "That's stupid," he drawls. "You suck. You should just quit basketball."

The last sentence freezes her. She turns to face him slowly, eyebrows furrowing and mouth poised in a pout. "Am I really that bad? I scored, you  _ didn't _ . _ " _ She smiles sweetly. "Good game. Maybe you'll win next time." She slams the door at his face.

Murasakibara blinks. He turns to the team pausing practice to gawk at his  _ audacity _ .

"C'mon man, don't agitate our super cute manager!" Some guy he doesn't know—probably a third-string—wails.

The captain pleads, "Murasakibara, please, we're so unpopular with girls already. Don't scare her off."

Fukui guffaws. "Oh man. I don't think we'll have to worry about that." He grins to their murderous super-freshman's back. "Chill out, dude, it's just one loss! We lose to Rakuzan all the time."

"And you'll lose to them forever, if you don't _ get your ass in gear and practice _ ," says Coach, shinai hitting that third-stringer who coincidentally is also the poor soul nearest to her. "You all still have an hour left," she reminds, then calls, "Murasakibara! Stay back after. You let a basket in, so that's 50 laps to run."

Murasakibara bristles, but grits his teeth and re-enters his position under the net anyways. "Next time, I'll crush her."

Liu picks up the long-discarded ball and quips. "Oh shite."


	2. Bespoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coach investigates and delegates.

Masako Araki is a sensible woman. She believes in the rational, the logical, the professional. She has long grown from her rebellious, biker gang teenage years—sans the motorcycle which she still rides to this day—learning  _ plenty  _ of restraint in the process. This self-control is the only reason she doesn't slap the Himuro's form onto the guy's face, dropping it on his grading pile instead.

  
  


"Explain this."

  
  


The girls basketball team coach is a middle aged man who had a nice run in college basketball, but got his teaching certificate before he could go pro—at least, that's his excuse; Masako thinks he's bullshit. She also thinks he is pathetic. It's appalling that Yosen's girls team hasn't ranked higher than top 8 in any championships since the two of them switched coaching assignments half a decade ago.

Content as she is whipping the boys team into shape, sometimes she finds herself missing a fellow girl's sensibility. Something she will gain with the team's newest addition, thank goodness, but the way it went about… she doesn't like it.

"What? Araki-chan?" He whips up his head to her, dislodging his cap to the floor. His head is balding.

"Don't call me that," she barks. It's a losing battle, but  _ hell  _ if she is going to stop fighting it. She jabs a finger to the paper. "Tell me what's the meaning of that."

He looks the filled club application form over, recognition lighting up his face. "Oh! So Tatsuya-chan is going to manage your team!"

"That's Himuro to you," Masako hisses, "and explain, why isn't she  _ playing _ in  _ your _ team instead?"

Without a care in the world, he shrugs. "My girls made her do the test-thingy and said she was okay. They don't want her to be a regular though, said it's not worth resetting their teamwork so close to the Winter Cup."

Masako's jaw drops with the realization that this guy hasn't even seen Himuro play yet, dropping his responsibility to a pack of rabid, jealousy-driven schoolgirls instead. Not for the first time, the woman is convinced all men are idiots.

To make it easier for his single brain cell to process her words, she says slowly, "She scored against Murasakibara yesterday."

"The miracle kid?" He asks, eyebrows rising to his receding hairline. He reclines his chair, balancing it precariously on two legs with practiced ease. "How's working with him?"

Masako grits her teeth, snatches the paper back, then storms out the room. She ignores his calls and invites to dinner,  _ what the hell, doesn't he have a wife, that disgusting lowlife... _

"They don't deserve you anyway, kid," she mutters under her breath. She understands now, why a girl more skilled than most of her first-string boys gave up playing so easily.

Better have a supporting role in an award-winning movie than to headline a flop— _ that _ , is something Masako agrees on.

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


The vertically-blessed boys of Yosen's basketball team can not believe their luck. A face sculpted by the gods, a smile gifted by the heavens. A girl that is  _ 183 centimeters,  _ and  _ likes basketball.  _ Likes  _ them  _ enough to spend precious before and after school hours in a sweat-smelly gym, population: 38 stinky boys.

In the corner, their captain is trying very hard not to cry.

"Hello everyone. I'm the new manager, nice to officially meet you all," she says. One boy shushes his spazzing friend, hissing  _ shut up, an angel is speaking.  _ She pretends not to hear them.

"My name is Himuro Tatsuya, but I wouldn't mind if you call me Tatsuya. To be honest, it's kind of weird hearing my family name all the time…"

Thirty seven pairs of eyes widen collectively.

"T-tatsuya…"

"I can't believe it, I'm calling a girl by their first name!"

Fukui raises his hand. "Oi, Tatsuya-chan. You sure about this?"

The only one that looks perpetually barely awake has long decided on her nickname. "Muro-chin," Murasakibara says. "Play me again. I'll crush you."

"No one is crushing anyone today," intervenes Coach with a whack of her shinai. Everyone winces as it hits the floor. "Now, go do your drills while  _ Himuro,"  _ she emphasizes, daring them to call her any different, "and I talk."

Being her well trained not-so-little soldiers, they go to do their laps diligently. Masako walks to her built-in office, Himuro trailing behind her.

"We've been without a manager for a long time that I have all the meal and training plans sorted," the woman says, pulling out well-organized files and stacking them on her desk. Himuro takes them and skims absently. Masako sits down. "I'll need you to spy on other schools in a few weeks, when practice matches start. For now though, I want you to handle Murasakibara."

"What?"

"You're the only one I've seen to score on him," Masako explains. "Frankly, you're the second most talented kid in this school. Put that skill to good use and train with him every evening."

A previously absent sparkle ignites in her visible eye. "You'll let me play?"

"It'd be stupid not to." Masako still can't get over how idiotic the girls team is handled. "Use the practice to maintain your skills and learn new ones from each other. You and purple wunderkind need it."

The girl thinks hard to remember his name. She's not very good at things like long names and winding directions. " _ Murasa Kiba _ ?"

"Murasakibara Atsushi."

"Atsushi," Himuro decides. Gears turn on her head, clicking into place. She smiles. "Okay. I think I'll manage him just fine."


End file.
